


Hands

by futurevampiress



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Hands, Insecurity, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-25 22:31:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13844361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/futurevampiress/pseuds/futurevampiress
Summary: In which your favourite part of Bucky’s body are his hands.





	Hands

Bucky’s always been attentive about what he does with his hands. Handling small, delicate things with care at one point, then completely destroying and annihilating an enemy at another. He has a love/hate relationship with his hands. Something as innocent as caressing the back of his fingers across your face can quickly turn into him gripping your neck with his merciless metal hand. Between his undying love for you and twisted mind, he can’t tell the difference sometimes among what’s real and what’s not.

Whenever you would find Bucky sitting on his bed staring at his hands, your heart would ache. You know how much he wishes he could take back all that he’s done. And no matter how many times you tell him it wasn’t his fault, he doesn’t believe you. Mind control or not, he did it anyway. Time after time again, you tell him the same thing: “I love you. Do not allow your wounds to transform you into someone you are not”. You would gently hold his face and press a soft kiss to his forehead. He is always content in those moments, but it doesn’t last long enough.

But there are days when he’s forgets what he’s done wrong and even smiles at the thought of owning his hands. It’s when you play with them.

Every touch, kiss, and caress makes him smile a little more. He can’t feel anything with his metal hand, so he takes every opportunity to brush away stray strands from your face, hold your hand, and gingerly touch your lips with his right hand. Despite feeling like a better man when he’s with you, his extreme insecurity with his metal arm gets the better of him at times. And that’s something you desperately want to change.

“I love you, you know that?” you tell him one night as you’re cuddling him in your arms in his bed. Bucky hums in response.

“I love you, too, _______.“

“And I mean it sincerely,” you add, gently roaming your fingers through his hair. “Every part of you. Good and bad. And no matter what you think, you’re perfect–“

“I am far from it, _______,” Bucky interrupts. You smile sadly. “I don’t know how you can think of me like that, doll. If anything,  _you’re_  the perfect one.”

“I was going to say,” you start, tilting his head so he looks at you, “that you’re perfectly  _imperfect_. I accept all of your flaws because they’re a part of you, Bucky. Even the ones that don’t seem like they are.”

He knows exactly what you’re talking about.

He raises his right hand to wrap around your head and gently strokes your face with his fingertips. “But they are,” he whispers. “It is. This isn’t–“

You press a single finger to his lips and give him a soft smile. “Shh, darling. You’re going to spoil what I have to say.”

He pouts, but kisses your finger before settling down and listening to the sound of your heartbeat.

“There are many things I love about you,” you begin. “Just as I say to you, time and time again, do not allow your wounds to transform you into someone you are not. You can thank Paulo Coelho for that quote. Your wounds run deeper than most, but it’s the fact that you do your damnest to make yourself better to forget the monstrosities that you’ve done. I’ve seen you doubting yourself and tearing yourself down because you loathe the person you once were. But you’re not that man anymore, Bucky. You are not the Winter Soldier. You’re you.”

He shifts in your arms, closing his eyes and biting his bottom lip as he thinks about the truth you just spoke. He would drown himself in workouts and repeatedly slap his face to reprimand himself when he couldn’t do something right. He holds you tighter.

“I’m not me,” he says. “I’m not Bucky Barnes, nor am I the Winter Soldier. I’m a monstrous mix of the two, which is even scarier.”

There’s truth to his words. He’s been twisted in so many ways, ways you don’t even want to think of. He’s been through so much; he can’t change the past, but he can focus on his future. His future on getting better, and his future with you.

“I know, Bucky,” you agree. “But you’re more than just who you think you are. You are more than a weapon designed for destruction. You’re kind, loving, caring. You think about other’s well-being and you want to help. That’s one of the most important things. You want to help. You want to help yourself and others. You’re beautiful, Bucky. Body, mind, and soul. Whether you choose to accept it or not.”

Bucky hasn’t heard these kinds of words in a long, long time. Has he even heard these kinds of words before? He can’t recall. But it’s exceptionally heartwarming. He feels like he’s on cloud nine, even when he tells himself he doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve to be spoken to like this, he doesn’t deserve the luxuries given to him, and he doesn’t deserve you. But that doesn’t stop  _you_  from loving him.

“Your hands, love,” you whisper in his ear. “Give me your hands.”

Bucky silently obeys, shifting to lay against your chest and raises his hands in the air for you. You take them in yours, and brush your thumb against the back of his hands. His right palm is clammy, his left cool. You trail your eyes up and down his arms to his bare chest, then back again. You bring his hands together, intertwining his fingers.

“Sit up, love.”

Bucky does as you ask, sighing as he does so and turns to face you. You have the softest, gentlest expression on your face as you take his hands again and make him cup your face. You sigh in content as the cool metal sends a shiver through your body. You place your hands over his, and smile as you slowly rub your face against his metal hand.

“Gentle,” you whisper. “Look how gentle your hand is being. It’s not– _you’re_  not, going to choke me to death like you fear you will. Because I trust you, Bucky. You won’t hurt me. Your hands aren’t made to hurt the people you hold most dear, just like the rest of us. Not in these moments.”

Bucky’s lip quivers as he stares at you admiring his metal hand that’s been drenched in the blood of innocent victims he’s murdered in the past few decades. He doesn’t believe his eyes the more you smile and kiss his metal appendage, whispering sweet nothings as you move down along farther and farther until you’re face-to-face with him.

“Did you know that my favourite part of the human body are hands?” He shakes his head. “They’re the most unique, I think. Everyone is different in their own way. Seven billion people and counting, and it still amazes me that there are  _that_  many distinct patterns for each of our fingers. One of many ways to identify ourselves. It’s extraordinary, really.”

You trace your pointer finger up and down Bucky’s stubbled face as you stare into his eyes.

“Hands can carry things. They can pick up objects, and pet animals. They can caress their lover’s face and hold their hands. Take their fears away. But they also have the unfortunate function of abuse and physical assault. Which is a sad thing for them to be used for. But the good outweighs the bad. I would rather pinch your cheeks than strike you across the face. Because that’s not the use my hands have for you. I only dream of running my fingers through your hair and gripping you in my hugs. Never to harm you.”

“I don’t want to hurt you either,” Bucky speaks up. He rests his forehead against yours and takes your hands in his. “Ever since HYDRA gave me my metal arm, it’s been used in ways I hoped I would never have to use it in. Countless lives were taken by me, whether I wanted it to happen or not.” He lets out a shaky breath and clears his throat. “I realize that I cannot take any of it back. No amount of ‘I’m sorry’s is going to make everything okay. I am responsible for what I have done, and sometimes I wish I’d never been born at all if I knew this is what I was going to become.”

“Bucky,” you choke out, a sob getting caught in your throat.

“Shh, doll. Let me finish.” Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you stay silent to let him continue. “Despite that, I know you’re right. I know that I’ve been trying to better myself by helping others and righting wrongs. It’s been hard, but you’ve made things a lot easier for me.” That makes you smile. “Ever since you took an interest in me, I did my hardest to prevent myself from hurting you in any way, shape or form. Not many people want to see what’s on the inside of the Winter Soldier like you do.”

He laughs dryly. His words are all over the place, not eloquent at all. There’s so many things he wants to say. He just needs to find the right words. He gathers his thoughts and repeats phrases he wants to say in his mind before opening his mouth again.

“I always gave you a pathetic smile whenever you complimented my metal arm,” he says. “Between not wanting to see you frown and keeping up my façade to see you smile, I’d rather do the former. Lying all the time should be easy for me, but it’s been getting more and more difficult even since you came here. I’m an easy read, so it’s not that hard to figure out that I was faking. Anyway… you’ve taught me to love myself again, _______. And that’s something I thought I could never do ever again.”

You pull away to look him in the eyes and cup his face in your hands. You brush your thumbs along his cheekbones and give him a shaky smile.

“That’s all I want,” you mumble.

“I know, doll,” he says. “I will always have broken pieces of myself floating around in my mind, but your gentle, caring voice is louder than the fragments telling me to give up. To just stop what I’m doing.” He pauses to raise his metal hand and stroke your hair. “This is a gift, and a curse. I have both my arms, but only one of them is more stained than the other. However, your hands have cleansed their dirtiness and turned them into something that I’m still getting used to. It’s fun, using my hands to sweep you off your feet and hold your face and play with your hair. It feels sort of nostalgic, but I can’t remember ever feeling this at all.”

By now all you want to do is have Bucky curled up, wrapped in your protective arms and kiss his face as he slowly drifts off to sleep. He’s never spoken this much about this kind of topic before with you. And you’re glad that you brought it up, otherwise you might’ve been kept in the dark about Bucky’s true feelings about himself.

“I may not love myself enough yet, but I know that I love you a lot more, _______,” he says. “You’re making me love myself again. Making me love the imperfections that I loathe each and every day. My hands may have done more bad than good, but you’re teaching me to move on to better things and focus on what’s ahead of me, instead of what I left behind.”

Your heart soars with pride when Bucky spills that truth to you. You couldn’t’ve asked for anything more than to hear Bucky speak of you in such a way that you don’t even know how to feel. You love this man to death, and there’s nothing stopping you from doing so.

“I love you, James Buchanan Barnes,” you smile. “I’m glad that I have such a positive influence on you to make you say those things to my face. It lets me know that you trust me. Just like I trust you. And your hands.” You intertwine your fingers with his and hold them up to his face, and kiss his knuckles.

“I love you so much, _______,” he says tenderly. He frees his hands from yours to cup your cheeks and give you a soft kiss. His smile is pure and honest as he pulls away. You tug him in by his neck to initiate another kiss, this time a little deeper. You slowly lay on your back and pull him down with you. He lays on your chest once again, and listens to your heart as you gently run your fingers through his hair.

“My hands are your favourite part of me,” Bucky breathes. “My favourite part of you though… it’s a tough pick. I just can’t decide.”

Your heartbeat quickens at his confession, and you smile because you know he heard the change in pace.

“You always know how to make me flustered,” you chuckle.

“Just another way to hear your laugh,” he says.

When you reach to take his left arm in yours, he doesn’t pull away.


End file.
